After four and a half intense days, I packed up after our last session and drove home through sunshine so wide it seemed bigger than the sky and I cried. I sobbed so much I had to park the car until I had stopped.

“At least you've not got cancer”, a few people said to me after word of my diagnosis had got around. Or the more drastic: “It could be worse, you could be dead”.

On a bad day, I’d argue that these statements themselves disallowed me any level of suffering at all, implying I should just wheesht and get on with it. On a good day, I learned to just nod and “Yes, that is true”. Which it was, don’t get me wrong. Of course I preferred the alternative to death.

Now on that first Monday, a dreary November day, my nurse was telling me I may feel better by Christmas but that it could take longer. I explained that life was ruled by the diary not to mention a small child and a business – I needed to be better. I’m a perfectionist. That’s when she mentioned “flexibility”. I winced.

Ditzy is not a word I’d use to describe myself. Yet the other day I put the milk in the cupboard. I was 15 minutes late for a business meeting. I misplace things. And while my list making continues, it is, sadly, not with such glee. I’m starting to think I might have to reassess my view of myself.

Living with type one diabetes is a daily challenge. From diagnosis in October 2014 to current day, these pages record the many challenges faced, things that have helped (or continue to) in the hope that I might help someone else newly diagnosed, or in need of some inspiration.